The Last Straw
by hiddenhibernian
Summary: The best thing about being comforted by Draco is that he has no ulterior motives.


**Thanks ever so much to FreeBuckbeak, my fantastic beta, who also came up with the title. This was originally written for the DramioneLove MiniFest on LiveJournal.**

* * *

 **The Last Straw  
**

 **-oOo-**

The cup seemed to fall in slow motion. Hermione watched helplessly as it slipped out of her fingers, toppled over and slowly started soaking the jumble of parchments, assorted folders and memos on her desk in milky-brown tea.

For days, she had been wondering what the last straw would be. She certainly hadn't expected it to be Jenkins' report on Pixie habitats. Staring at the slowly dissolving ink, extending the letters into caricatured versions of themselves, she noticed her sight was getting misty. Heat welled up behind her eyes. She sat down abruptly, letting the folder in her hand slide to the floor like it didn't matter.

Suddenly, she didn't give a fuck about the impact of global warming on merpeople, the department budget, how she was going to get a meeting with Junior Undersecretary Fawley, or anything else she should be worrying about.

All she could think about was how Ron had looked at her when he had walked out, ten days ago.

* * *

When Hermione became aware of her surroundings again, emerging from the bottomless pit of sadness that had taken up residence in her stomach these days, she noticed she was holding a handkerchief. Monogrammed, no less.

'D.L.M.' was sitting right next to her, his hand hovering so close to her shoulder she could feel the heat of his body. "Are you all right?"

"What do you think?" She blew her nose defiantly, making sure she used the part with the embroidered letters. "I always cry when I'm having a good time at work."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Granger."

Hermione glared at him."Suck it up, ferret boy."

He looked pained. "Ordinarily, you wouldn't resort to dredging up our school days. Weasley made the mistake of his life and broke up with you again, then?"

He usually said that; Hermione always wondered if it was a slight on her choosing Ron, or Draco abusing Ron as usual. For the first time, it occurred to her that there was a third, more flattering interpretation.

Asking what he meant would be useless. There was no such thing as an uncomplicated Slytherin; they seemed to thrive on ambiguities, ideas that could be interpreted a dozen different ways. Maybe it would suit her, too – there wasn't much room for interpretation in 'It's over, Hermione.'

"Obviously," she told Draco, who still seemed to be waiting for an answer.

"Don't worry, you'll be back together in no time. Potter will talk some sense into him, then he'll spend all his wages in the flower shop and swear he'll make it up to you. Again."

Hermione had to exercise extreme willpower not to glance at the mummified remains of Ron's last peace offering next to the filing cabinet. Draco was scarily accurate, in all but one thing. "No. This time, it really is over."

"How do you know that?"

"Because there's nothing left. This time, we're done for good." Her face must have shown how she dreaded a life without Ronald Weasley, because Draco comforted her most uncharacteristically.

"You will become friends again. There's too much history between you – too many good things – for it not to happen. Besides, Potter will have a hell of a time trying to split his time fairly between you. He'll do his best to reconcile you as soon as possible."

"Maybe." She could see how he could be right, though. She and Ron had repeated the cycle of fighting, breaking up, getting back together only to start fighting again too many times. Lately, the good times hadn't lasted more than a month or so. What was that saying again – only idiots repeat the same action and expect different results?

It was time for things to change. She reached for the soggy handkerchief to blow her nose, but Draco placed a new, immaculately pressed one into her hand instead.

"Don't even think about it, Granger. You were about to say something about house-elves, weren't you? I'll have you know I iron these myself."

"Sure you do, Malfoy."

"I watch Muggle TV while doing it. Clears my head after a long day."

The image of Draco patiently ironing reams of shirts and handkerchiefs in front of _Eastenders_ and the news was too good to resist. Hermione smiled, then she started giggling helplessly. "I – I bet you're drinking beer out of a can, too!"

He waited patiently until she had composed herself. "Of course not. I have standards, you know. A glass of Chablis doesn't go amiss, though."

"Who are you, and what have you done to Draco Malfoy?"

"I grew up. It happens to most of us."

She made a face at him. "I was joking."

"I wasn't. Remember that in a few months, will you?" He stood up, leaving her sitting at her ruin of a desk surrounded by rumpled hankies. Hermione stared after him as he left her office, twirling his wand on the way out. The soggy parchments straightened themselves out, lining up in neat piles. The handkerchiefs disappeared, and her spilt cup refilled itself to the brim with steaming hot tea. In the corner by the stationery cupboard, an arrangement with lilies, roses and a dozen other flowers appeared, suddenly filling the air with their delicious scent _._ Butterflies hovered around it; one settle on the edge of her desk before deciding a chrysanthemum was a better bet.

Draco bent around the doorframe, sticking his head back into her office. "It'll only last until nightfall, but at least you won't have to clean it up later. Or not, as the case may be."

"Thanks," she said feebly, but he was gone.

 **THE END**


End file.
